


Lost in the Tears of Rain

by Abah



Series: Gerard Lacroix x Amelie Lacroix [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abah/pseuds/Abah
Summary: Rain resembles sadness, gloominess, or even refreshment. A chance to begin again - an opportunity to start anew, to letting it all go. Follow Gerard and Amelie as they are rebuilding their long lost relationship to start a new one with the hope that the Incident and the Kidnapping never happened to the couple anymore.





	

 

Everyone knows that rain resembles sadness, gloominess, or even refreshment – a chance to begin again, a chance to letting it all go. Rain falls from the skies and fertilise the mother Earth below, or even destroy one part of humanity and civilisations. Be it flood or landslide, rain always there and always be something good and bad in one pack. Just like a human being, we’ve got our good and bad inside us, and we shared it with everyone we met, and we know.

In the other parts of the world, rain resembles happiness for underage children, and such examples are mostly in remote areas of Africa or even my home country. Rain makes you catch a cold, but something is unbelievable behind it all. Once upon a time, when I was a child and technology isn’t expanding very well, when it comes to rain, everyone just bursts out from their homes and start playing under the rain and enjoying themselves while it lasts. One rain can lead to happiness, and one may result in extinction. The Rainy season may come in two results, one will make us happy, and one can make us think that there are a lot of people needs our help for fighting the rain to ensure their livelihood, their families, and most of all, their lives.

Rain resembles gloominess and sadness, does it? It does. When you look up to your window and try to count the raindrops sticking to the glass and the frame. It makes you think that there will always be something deeper to think in between your thoughts and imagination. From the right angle, you can take a shot that looks like a movie, from another different perspective, turning off your lights while looking outside, it sounds like something straight out of the storybook that teenagers would like to imagine as if it happened to them.

I stationed in Annecy, a small city located in the south-eastern part of France, and to the north of Annecy is Switzerland. One of the Overwatch’s Headquarters back in the day when Omnics started to spread their plague upon humanity and to destroy all who blocked their way to extinct human being from existence.

Annecy is one peaceful city you could imagine, the lake in the eastern part of the city and all the kind folks who offered you help right away, and this place will be a good home for my family if I had one. I was born twenty years before the Omnic Crisis and been living a healthy life with my biological family until I was seven-years-old and lived with my uncle.

Life with my uncle is rather harsh but useful as I see it. He taught me how to wield a sword, how to fire a gun and to defend myself from danger with his acute skills of martial arts. Uncle Luis knows me like the back of his hand, trying to troll me every day. Be it Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, or even St. Paddy’s Day. He always knows how to make me mad and thus, loving him more and more as I grew older and wiser.

Twelve years has gone so fast, the world’s fate is on Overwatch’s hand, and the Omnic threat is nowhere to disperse or even weaker as days passed. They grew stronger and stronger, and people will likely lose their support to the Overwatch and thus disbanding them several years later after the incident.

People all know that Paris is the City of Love, a lot of movies using that reference for their revenue and mainly for the awards. It’s undeniable, and it is truth. It’s so romantic that even rain who spreads its gloominess can turn into something romantic in a matter of seconds.

I live somewhere in Paris, with only the neighbour’s dog who is accompanying me through the weekends, I find myself lack in loving a woman. I try to find one, but it seems they are all hooked up with their boyfriends and matched their criteria for a boy to love them. My flat isn’t that big, and one important thing that I’d like to keep myself uplifted is my window overlooked all the Parisian streets and the most recognisable landmark of France, the Eiffel Tower. I don’t know about this, but I felt that my window looks like of that one cartoon motion picture about a rat becoming a chef while trying to help one man passing by his grandfather’s legacy or something like that. It seems the rain does not affect his mood, although it’s quite depressing for others, he found a way to make rain a little more romantic and to make him think that his deeper thoughts buried until rain fell to Mother Earth as its fertilising the soil below. But now, let’s focus on the story I’d like to tell you.

As the rain fell from the skies, the Man seems enjoyed it from the heart and continue his way to downtown Paris to see if he can buy something for dinner. He is known as Gérard, and he is one of the youngest single males in all of Paris. With his golden blonde ponytail, his well-trimmed full beard, and a scar along his right eyes make him one of the rarest combination of men’s physique and personality. A fearsome, handsome lad, also he’s a caring type of person, never letting a girl down in his life, but to also defend his affection rights so those who want to mess with him should think twice before abandon him.

Gérard Lacroix, one of the high-ranking officer in Overwatch once had a wife, Amélie Lacroix who was supposed to kill him in his sleep. In before his fateful night and sleep, he is already escaping from his wife’s flat and strolling on the road, trying to find another place to call home – another location to start anew. Gérard found himself a new home in the hills of Belgium. Where you could escape the world to restore your life by skiing, snowboarding, or maybe take some photos for the tourist and get paid, although it is not much for a man like Gérard to ensure his life, he had to do anything to support it. Small paycheck or paid in thousands of Euros, he gladly accepts it.

The elderly in his neighbourhood seems to love him like he’s one of their children and often tell him to stop by to have breakfast, lunch, or dinner together with their families and friends. Many of the good folks of Belgium consider the elderly’s choice exaggerated. Eventually, they understand what the old wants and letting him join their feasts and also to celebrate pivotal holidays. Gérard felt that his life never been so much blessed after he departed with his wife, allegedly killed him in his sleep.

“Gérard! Come here, my little boy.” Grandma Anne shouted from across the road.

Gérard replied. “I’m coming, granny!” He crossed the road and then sat beside Grandma Anne.

“Would you like some cookies I made several hours ago?” She offered.

“It’d be delightful, Grandma.” He said, grabbing one or two gingerbread cookies

“Would you like to share a story with me? About your past life?” She asked while sipping her morning tea.

“Sure, I’d be glad to share my story with you, Grandma.”

The story goes like this. One day, I was one of the leaders who was spearheading operations against Talon in France, and I met this beautiful lady in my office, her name is Amélie. She’s 176cm tall and weighs around 55 to 60kgs, most of her weight comes from her muscle. Biologically speaking, women have fewer testosterones than men, so she couldn’t showcasing her muscle very well, and yes, she is tougher and stronger than me. Over the years of my service as Overwatch agent, her muscles were getting softer. I try to ask her why she stopped her daily workout, but until today she has no answer to my question. Until one day that she invited me to have a little chat about life and love at an Italian café, ran by a handful of French. She resembles your youth if I might add. Amber eyes, black ponytail, a huge, radiant smile emerges from her face as she talks to me or watching me do something stupid, and then she decided to hook me up for the rest of my service in Overwatch.

One night, she was kidnapped by Talon, and they reprogrammed her to be one of their most efficient and lethal assassins they created. I heard that they alter her personality and biological needs to make sure her shots is on target, and she felt no remorse after what she did. The Overwatch team managed to get her out of there easily, as I thought to myself the extraction day would be a trap. A trap that eventually turns the tides of Overwatch once and for all. We were married that day and having a pleasant life in France.

I’m glad she’s still alive, but then I felt something strange about her. She doesn’t want to cuddle with me or even a simple chit-chat in between movies. She looks like had a plan to eradicate someone, probably me. Then I went to search a doppelganger, but my search ended up empty-handed, not until I found a ragdoll company not far from my actual search place, and pick up one male ragdoll and get it filled with blood from the local hospital. The ragdoll itself looks like a human and also sounds like a robot at the same time. Activated it before I went back home from the Overwatch HQ and then I had a strange conversation with this robot.

“Hello, human being. I am waiting for my death.” He said to me.

“Why you’re waiting for your death?” I asked him.

“I am one of the failed prototypes, and yet I roamed this world without purpose. I’d like to kill myself, but I found it hard in my heart to carry such disgrace.” He asserted.

“Could you inject this blood for me?” I said, giving him three blood bag.

“I am more than happy to do it, human. What is it you want from me afterwards?” He asked after injecting the blood into his artificial veins.

“Hear me. Activate Gérard Subroutine, Go to Boulevard de Charonne before midnight.” I said, guessing its commands.

“Gérard Subroutine activated, now travelling to Boulevard de Charonne.”

And then he left me, not knowing that day would be his last, and shared his smile with me. But, before we depart he offered me to drink some beer and having a chat together. It’s awkward, but now I know how it feels to talk with your significant other – although in my case is a robot.

I forgot to pack my things, but with my paycheck on my pocket, it should be enough to move here. To Belgium.

The next day, it was chaos all over Paris. Amélie did kill my doppelganger and claimed that she’s taking my soul away to Oblivion. It shook the Overwatch and all the law enforcements, and then their attack grew stronger as Amélie getting herself altered to the point where Amélie itself no longer exist. Thus, she got another nickname. “Widowmaker.”

“That’s all I can spare, grandma. That’s my story of why I’m moving to Belgium.”

“Oh, that’s very unfortunate for you, young man. I feel sorry for your wife. Did she dead after Talon altered her personality and brainwashing her?” She asked, worried about my wife’s condition. Although I already assert it in my story.

“Such things are not for worrying, madam. I hope she’s still alive inside out.” I said, to calm Grandma Anne while gently tapping her shoulders. “Anyway, I hope you have a beautiful day, almost late for work. Thank you for your time and your gingerbread cookies, it’s delicious.” I smiled at her and waved her a goodbye, and went to work as tourist photographer.

“Take care of yourself, young man. Keep alert for strangers.” She replied, waving her hands and immediately sit back on her rocking chair.

Looking at my hands, it seems different. Hard, cold, and even my veins are pulsating, and there’s hatred flowing through it. I am their most capable and ruthless assassin they’ve created. I can’t feel anything, and I can’t feel what normal people would feel. I envied the other labourers who work for Talon – and they able to share laughs, cries, and affections towards others, even Talon prohibited their members from sharing feelings and emotions – they always find a way to share it. They often know where and when to share their affection with anyone they met.

Gérard’s dead in my hands, in his sleep. Suddenly, it rained outside, and people run around like a pack of wolves trying to find shelter. I looked at my flat’s window. There’s me. _There was_ Amélie Lacroix. I tried to close my eyes to see if the reflection fades away as I thought to myself that killing people is making me more alive. _It doesn’t, and it stays there. No matter what tricks I used._

Memories I shouldn’t remember immediately flying around my face and my thoughts simultaneously. I sat down on my couch, accompanied by my rifle leaning on the wall in front of me. I try to watch TV, but it always that teenage romances TV series that were airing on several different channels, with kissing and all that. I turned off the television and went to see puddles of the rain and began to imagining things that I couldn’t even make it happen – things that I couldn’t even realise it was there, waiting to be taken, waiting to be a part of me. Suddenly, it felt like a battlefield. An emotionless assassin against Gérard’s beautiful wife, I had to draw a line in the middle of my flat to make sure that I managed to balance Widowmaker and Amélie at the same time.

It was raining outside; it’s endless yet calming. I braved myself to rent a boat and went to Lac d’Annecy, wandering through the solitude and peacefulness and went to local beer brewery and had a converse with an old man, Denis.

“What brings you here, girl? Is there something the people of Lac d’Annecy can help you?” He asked while greeting me from outside.

“May I tell you a story?” I asked the innkeeper.

“Sure, sure. Go ahead, little lady.”

Universally known that girls not too often wants to date a band member. Be it the guitarist, the drummer, the bassist, or even the vocalist – one who speaks for all, the prince charming of a band. I am one of those girls who dates a band member. Once upon a time, when the world isn't colliding with the others as time passes by quickly, I went to a bar and saw an advertisement for a concert inside the bar. Probably thirty to forty minutes after I dive into the bar, the band started to play loud music, and everyone began to have their fun by sharing beers, crowd surfing, stage diving, and other things that I can’t imagine how to describe the show that night. As night began to storm the bar, it went wild than my wildest dreams and then, the band play ska music, igniting a peaceful chaos in between the audiences and some of the fans. I was on the frontline, listening to their songs until I can’t bang my head. Then, I noticed a guy I know from Overwatch. Long ponytail hair, a scar on his face, and a well-trimmed beard. He’s from the Alpha Strike Force, the one who is spearheading Overwatch’s attacks against Talon, and he’s the commander of the strike force. He’s Gérard Lacroix. Back in the Overwatch HQ, the secretaries are often gossiping about him and sharing their wildest dreams when he’s not around the HQ, and he’s quite a prince charming if I might add.

I went to the bar next month to see if there’s a band having a concert there, and there it is, _there he is_. His group is called George and the Sunset Drive Folks. He was the guitarist and an occasional drummer. The group did well on France underground music scene, especially Indie music. Two hours before they play the gig, I approached Gérard.

“Hi, there. It’s unusual for me to see you here.” I greeted him, with an awkward smile on my face.

“Oh, Hi. I didn’t notice you were here, Amélie. I thought secretaries didn’t care about underground music and all that.” He laughed, eventually the cherries of my cheeks began to ripen as he smiled towards me while tuning his guitar.

“U-Uh.. yeah,” I said, not focusing myself to what he said earlier. “I…” I stuttered, still can’t get my focus on him.

“Amélie, why are you stuttering like that? And why there’s a blush all over your face?” He asked, frowned.

“No! No!” I shocked and grinned a bit. “I want to ask you to go home with me together.” _Damn, here we go again, brain._

“Want to stay at my flat? It isn’t big, but you can see Eiffel and the streets below.” He asked while playing a few chords.

“Y-Yeah, sure,” I replied, not knowing that he means it about staying in his flat. “I’d like to stay in your unit for a day.”

“I thought you don’t like to live with boys,” He said, widened his eyes and raising his eyebrows. “Alright, then. Please enjoy yourself, drink beer or watching me play. Your choice! See you in forty-five minutes!” He continued as he walked through the backstage and began to soundcheck.

He played well and everybody sharing their fun together, be it with the other audiences or with his band. The only I could do for him is smiling on the far end of the stage, and waving my hands to him. I went outside to get some fresh air, and it was humid inside the bar. The cold breeze of Paris can’t even get inside. After the show, it was quite chaotic, and he went off the stage quickly.

“Amé!” He shouted from the inside of the bar.

“Gérard!” I yelled back at him. “It was the best show I’ve ever attend. I think you deserve a new fan for your band.” I congratulated him.

“Why, thanks! I hope you enjoy the show with all the people inside!” He smiled. “So, wanna go to my apartment?” He asked.

Cherry red blush began to storm my face like Atlantic Monsoon. “Yeah, sure.” Shoot! Shouldn't say that, stuttered and shocked when I heard he said that thing again.

Since my visit to his second concert, now I know Gérard’s odd-job aside from being Alpha Strike Force commandant. George and the Sunset Drive Folks was his band, formed five years after the Omnic Crisis; they played mainly Hard Rock and Stoner Rock. The group of four consists Gérard Lacroix, my deceased husband, known as “Jerry.” He is playing the lead guitar and the group’s lyricist, then they got a female Swede, Ingrid Stevenson or also known as “The Tomb,” she is playing the bass and one of their backing vocalists. Then we got “George” itself, and his real name was Grigoriy Vadimiyevich, a Russian who moved to France several years before the band formed. He is the vocalist and the rhythm guitarist, and also the band’s songwriter, and the last but not least is Bridgette Merrywater or known as “Egyptian Delight” or just “Alyssa.” Although her name is more like European or American, she has Egyptian roots way back to her great great grandfather. She is the drummer and the backing vocalist.

As we drive through the Parisian street, there’s something in my heart. Seriously, I never find caring men like Gérard, and by living beside him inside his flat makes me understand how he behaves in outside world. It’s funny to see him complain about this and that, but get no response from the other people. Since then, I can’t seem to recall what’s happening in my life. One thing that I still have an imagery of it was when Gérard is sleeping, I stick a knife in his throat and run away from his flat, and now I’m living here, in his flat. Something bound me here, and I couldn’t escape it.

“Now, what would you like to know?”

“Are you the notorious Widowmaker? All the French knows you well like Napoléon!” He whispered, but there’s a unique tone, a mix between disbelieving and amazement when he speaks to me, about Widowmaker.

“Sadly, that’s truth. I am Widowmaker.” I confessed to the innkeeper.

“You should have ashamed of yourself, little girl. Killing your caring and loving husband in his sleep is worse than hanged in public.” He warned. “But anyway, if that’s what’s coming for him, so be it. We couldn’t retract time to fix what we couldn’t repair.” He quoted while serving me a glass of Ginger Ale.

“His death is inevitable, but I’m sure it was not him whom I killed,” I said. “I believe he’s somewhere in this world.”

“What?! You didn’t kill your husband, although you’re the Maker of Widows?” He said, with a medieval tone.

“I’m not sure, friend.” I shook my head and stood up from the bar stool. “Thank you for your Ginger Ale, and it helped me to calm myself while I search for my husband. People knows me well because of the killing and my distinctive violet skin and lack of emotions.”

“I wish the wheel turns upon your adventure, Lassie. I couldn’t help much since I am just an innkeeper. I’m no bureaucrat or diplomat. But, if you need a drink, that one thing I could help you.” He jests while cleaning some of the mugs scattered on the bar.

Every artist or writer knows that Sunset has a lot of meanings. The End of Things, a new way to measure the day, or maybe a sign of refreshment and rest because of the fatigue we created since the beginning of the day. Sunset sometimes symbolises death, but it depends on your perspective and your beliefs about that. What I can say about Sunset is something calming and warm yourself up after a long day full of work and things you couldn’t complete.

Amélie and I always enjoy the calming sunset of Paris when she started living with me. She’s quite observant and often put her shoulder to my round window and sat there, stare emptily as the skies darken and folks starting to have dinner with their families or even the late night butterflies who overworked but underpaid, and then she’s acting a little weird all the time. Be it at work or my apartment, she always put her whorish face and talking dirty to me – like one of those late night butterflies.

It’s been five years since I lived in Belgium and I went back to Paris to see if my flat still standing there. I heard that my wife murdered me and chaos spread throughout France, be it a terrorist attack or mad rioters demanding better security for them. The street where I used to live seems empty and slowly began to turn itself into a ghost town. The flat I used to live still stands and overlooking Eiffel.

I sat down on the couch and turning on the TV, and then a knife almost cut my head to half.

“Whoa, whoa there! Be careful!” I shouted to a lady in front of the door.

“Gérard, I’ve been expecting you, sweetheart.” She said while playing her knife on her hands.

“Widowmaker. How’d you know I was here?” I asked her.

She replied while swinging her knife in front of my face, trying to cut it up and add another scar on my face. “I know you’re still alive and I feel that my mission to eradicate you from this world is not yet end.”

“Widowmaker! Stop it!” I said, right after she threw her knife at the wall.

“What’s the matter? You afraid to fight me?” She asked, teasing me to blend with her assassin instinct.

She glances to my chest, filled with hatred. “Do you want to stab me?” I asked her while pointing at my chest.

“Your muscular chest is a proper scabbard for my knife, Gérard.” She said, licking her lips like a psychopath.

“What is your purpose?” I asked her.

“My purpose is to kill you.”

“Is there anything we can talk about this?” I asked her once more, while people outside wondering what’s going on with both of us.

“Yeah, with the blade.” She said, throwing her knife and catch it numerous of times.

“What will you get if you kill me right now?”

“I get paid, and new missions awaits.”

I took a deep breath and asked the most emotional question that came out from my mouth. “Are you Amélie Lacroix, a married housewife to Gérard Lacroix or the Maker of Widows? Whom seeing your eyes will put them in eternal horror?”

“I…” She stuttered.

“If killing people is your daily objective, what do you accomplish?”

She glanced to the desktop picture frame I took several months after our marriage.

“Tell me, are you Amélie Lacroix or Widowmaker?”

She keeps her eyes focused on the picture frame as the skies began to thundering and tears pouring down from the heavens.

“Who _are_ you?” I asked her, asserting my tone.

She looked heavenwards, dropped her knife. “I am… the Maker of Widows!” She screamed and punched me in the face, and both of us fell from our apartment and broke my window. Half way down to the ground, she shed a little teardrop and whispered.

 _I miss you, Gérard_.

And the world began to blurred, then eternal darkness surrounding my thoughts. The tear Amélie shed started to mixed with rain as blood began to leak from her mouth. She spluttered her last words before she loses her consciousness.

_I’m sorry._

**Author's Note:**

> Here's one of the longest works I've made, and one of the fic that I finished less than a week or so (I took about three to four days to complete) and I'm quite satisfied with the result. Also with corrections and suggestions made by my lecturer and some of my classmates, they thought this is more than enough to entertain people (at least from where I came from XD). This fic inspired by two awesome Powderfinger's song, "My Happiness" and "These Days," for the title I acquire it from my Quora question.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as I did writing it.
> 
> \- AmelieAmaryllis


End file.
